


Fade to Black - Season 1

by DarkStar6782



Series: Fade to Black [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bobby SInger - Freeform, Coda, Gen, Jessica Moore - Freeform, One Shot Collection, Pre-Series, Season/Series 01, Tyson Brady - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 16,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28082721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkStar6782/pseuds/DarkStar6782
Series: Fade to Black [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2057316
Comments: 12
Kudos: 6





	1. Pilot

The next few days pass in a blur. Barely anything about that first night registers except the heat of the flames, the flashing lights, and Dean’s soft voice as he asked, “Where’s Mommy?” It was the last thing his son would say to him for four months, and John doesn’t even remember his answer.

He remembers Mary’s face, though. Everything about her, in fact, as she hung there, pinned to the ceiling, her skin as white as the nightgown that was slowly being stained crimson with her blood. He will never forget that image for as long as he lives, or the sound of her screaming as she burst into flames. The fire marshal concludes that faulty wiring was the cause of the fire, but John knows what he saw, and he wants answers. He wants to know what killed his wife.

He knows he’s failing his sons, though, and that’s the thing that finally manages to bring him out of his stupor. Waking up one night to the sound of Sammy’s cries, he bolts out of his bed in the tiny hotel room only to find Dean sitting in Sammy’s crib, rocking his baby brother and humming softly to him as his tears stop. Thinking back, he remembers watching Dean feed Sammy, and change him, and put him to bed, all without a word of complaint. Dean is only four-and-a-half; he’s too young to have all of that responsibility, but John doesn’t know what else to do.

He steps up as best he can, he tries to be a father again, but when a psychic named Missouri Moseley tells him about the ghosts and demons and monsters out there lurking in the dark, he knows it’s not enough. It will never be enough for him to go back to his old job, to settle into another house and try to be the father that Mary would have wanted him to be. Because there is evil out there, and it murdered his wife and burned her on the ceiling of his son’s nursery, and if it’s the last thing he does, he will find out why.

*************************************

The next few days pass in a blur. Sam can think of nothing but the fire: the sight of his girlfriend, her skin as pale as her white nightgown, bleeding and burning on the ceiling; Dean’s voice calling to him, Dean’s hands dragging him from the room as he screamed and screamed and screamed…

He’s lost in a sea of grief-stricken people for a while. Dean thinks they should leave town before anyone can ask too many questions, but Sam can’t bring himself to go. He’s not the only one who lost someone in that fire, after all; Jess had friends, and family, and even though Sam has no answers to give them about the reason why the brightest light in their lives is gone, he feels like he has to see this through to the end.

Because once he leaves, he knows he’s never coming back. Stanford was supposed to be his fresh start, his chance at a safe, if not completely normal, life. And that’s all gone now. It burned to ashes in the fire that consumed his girlfriend, and there’s no denying that the only reason she is dead is because of him. Dad and Dean didn’t talk about it much, but he knows enough about how his mom died to know that Jess was killed by the exact same thing that killed her, twenty-two years to the day. He thinks he understands how his father felt now: the grief and fear and anger that drove him to abandon any semblance of a normal life for his children in order to go hunting after the monsters that lurk in the dark. He feels all of that now, too, along with a healthy serving of guilt. Because, unlike his father, he had known about the evil that was out there, and he had stupidly thought that he could turn his back on it and still be safe.

He’s never going to be able to forgive himself for not telling Jess about his other life, for not doing more to protect her. All he can do now is search for absolution by helping Dean find their father, taking up the quest to find the thing that killed their mother again, and, hopefully, along the way, doing his best to make sure that no one else has to suffer a loss like his ever again.

*************************************

The next few days pass in a blur. Dean goes along with Sam’s frantic investigation until the day of the funeral, then, as soon as he is able to drag Sammy away from the cemetery, he shoves him into the car and starts driving. The poor kid is so exhausted that he passes out almost immediately; they’re halfway to Colorado before he wakes up from a nightmare and realizes that they’ve left California behind them. He yells at Dean for a while, but Dean just lets him vent. It’s easier than trying to say anything; he’s afraid of what might come out if he opens his mouth. Because there’s a part of him that wonders if this is all his fault. He should never have gotten Sam involved in hunting again; as much as he had missed his brother, the kid had been out. He’d had a girl, and a chance at law school, and a brighter future than Dean had ever thought possible for either of them. And now it was all over, and Sam was turning into their dad right before Dean’s eyes. The only way to stop this--the only way to get to the bottom of this curse that seems to follow their family wherever they go--is to find Dad and get some answers about the monster that killed their mom. Dean pushes the pedal to the metal, making his Baby roar down the highways and back roads leading to the coordinates Dad left him, desperately hoping that Dad is still there, waiting for him. Because, though he’d never admit it to Sammy, his little brother’s not the only one with nightmares right now.


	2. Wendigo

Dean has a split second to react when the wendigo appears right in front of him. As Haley screams, he dives into his jacket pocket for his lighter, but before he can even wrap his fingers around it, the bottle in his hand is gone, slashed away by claw-like fingers at the end of an impossibly long arm. The wendigo had moved so fast he didn’t even see it until it was grabbing him by the ankles and pulling his feet out from under him. He hears Haley scream again as the monster grabs her too, and as he reaches instinctively for her, his hand catches on the bag of M&Ms in his pocket and pulls it out, scattering brightly-colored candies across the forest floor.

It’s the only chance they have at Sam finding them, he realizes as the forest begins to blur around him. He clutches at the bag and tries to keep all the candies from falling out at once as the wendigo carries him and Haley through the trees. At the speed they’re going, it’s hard to tell how successful he is, but he’s pretty sure the bag is almost empty by the time the wendigo drags them into an abandoned mine shaft. None of it will mean anything if the monster goes back and finds Sam before Sam can track them here, though, so he puts up as much of a fight as he can muster when the wendigo starts stringing them up like sides of beef. It gets him a few cracked ribs for his trouble, but at least he’s bought his brother some time.

The world is going fuzzy around the edges as he watches the wendigo retreat into the darkness of the tunnel. Beside him, Haley struggles a bit against her ropes and whispers, “What do we do now?”

“Don’t worry,” Dean manages to say just before everything goes black. “My brother will save us.” It’s the family business, after all.

*************************************

Dean is sound asleep in the back seat, his head pillowed on Dad’s old leather jacket, and Sam hasn’t been behind the wheel of the Impala since Dean taught him how to drive when he was sixteen, so he’s going to make the most of it. Instead of AC/DC or Zeppelin blasting out of the speakers, he’s got an old Green Day album in the cassette player, turned down low so Dean won’t bitch, and he’s got the seat pushed back far enough to fit his legs. Dean keeps insisting that Sam can’t be that much taller than him, but Sam knows his brother’s just in denial, and whether Dean believes him or not, those extra three or four inches make all the difference in the world after a few hours.

“Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?” Sam glances up at the back seat through the rearview mirror, one hand hovering over the switch to turn off the stereo despite the retort of _“Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake hole”_ echoing in the back of his mind. Dean’s never liked his music, but Sam’s not going to fight him on it this time, because his brother looks like crap. The paramedics did a good job of patching him up, but his bandages need changing again, and he’s still covered in blood and dirt from his time down in that mineshaft. They both are, actually. It’s probably high time he found them a place to hole up for the night.

But Dean doesn’t complain about the music, or ask him to stop, or anything Sam was expecting. Instead, all he says is, “Thanks.”

“For what?”

He catches the slight roll of Dean’s eyes even in the dark. “For saving me back there, of course.”

Sam snorts. As if he could have done anything else. “Well, guess that makes us even for you saving me from that woman in white last week.”

“What, are we keeping score now?”

“Always.” Sam glances back just long enough to grin at his brother, then returns his eyes to the road. His demeanor sobers after a moment, and when a quick glance in the mirror shows that Dean hasn’t fallen back asleep yet, he says, “You were right, you know.”

“About what?”

“About Dad. I mean, finding him is the most important thing—I have to know what killed Jess, I can’t just let that go—but along the way, we can’t forget about helping other people. So I’m in. With the whole ‘family business’ thing. And once I find us a place to stop for the night and we get a good night’s sleep, we should look for another case.”

Dean doesn’t say anything to that, just smiles briefly and closes his eyes again, but before he falls back to sleep, Sam swears he hears him murmur, “That’s my boy.”


	3. Dead in the Water

Some of the sandwiches are drowning in mayonnaise, or have too many pickles, or are sporting weird combinations of meat and cheese, but Dean is wolfing them down as if he doesn’t even notice, grinning and humming along with the radio when his mouth is full. Sam nibbles on an apple and watches his brother out of the corner of his eye as he thinks about the case and everything he learned about Dean along the way. He’s not going to ask his brother any questions, though, because he knows he won’t get any straight answers, and because he doesn’t really need any. 

He remembers a time, not all that long ago, when the backseat of this very car was covered, not with duffel bags of weapons and dirty laundry, but with army men and crayons and toy cars and picture books. He remembers a big brother who made sure he ate his vegetables and took his bath and went to bed at night, but who also liked to read and draw and play with Legos. As a little kid, Dean had always seemed so much bigger and older to Sam, but looking back now, it’s easy to see that he was just a kid himself… a kid who had been forced to grow up way too fast, a kid who had found it far too easy to hide his fear and grief at losing his mother in the task of being more than just a big brother to Sam.

Sam wishes that he knew more about their mother, and about the kid that Dean had been before she died, and he feels bad for teasing Dean about not really knowing or caring about kids. He’s not going to apologize, because Dean would just brush it off and make some stupid joke about Sam being a girl, but he’s not going to forget it either. He’s going to pay more attention from now on, because he’s starting to realize that the brother he thought he knew better than anyone else in the world is not as open a book as he’s always appeared to be.


	4. Phantom Traveler

_This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean. 785-555-0179. He can help._

“What do you think it means?”

“What do you mean, what do I think it means? It means Dad’s busy, Sam. It’s not the first time he’s sent jobs my way when he’s wrapped up in something else. What do you think I’ve been doing for the last two years?”

“I know that, it’s just… I mean, he must know we’re trying to get ahold of him. Why won’t he just call us?”

“Look, Sam… He’ll call us when he needs us, or when he has something to tell us. This is a good sign, Sammy. It means Dad’s okay. And we’re not gonna stop looking for him, I promise. But in the meantime…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it.”

“Just, no more planes, okay?”

“Sure thing, Mister ‘This job never scares me’. I still can’t believe you’re afraid of flying.”

“Shut up, bitch.”

“Jerk.”


	5. Bloody Mary

_“Now that this is all over, I want you to tell me what that secret is.”_

_“Look...you're my brother and I'd die for you, but there are some things I need to keep to myself.”_

He’d love to tell Dean the truth, but it’s more than just the fact that he dreamed about Jess’s death before it happened. It’s because he knew that it was more than just a dream, no matter how hard he tried to deny it, and he’s terrified of what that makes him. He doesn’t want to become his brother’s next case, or just another monster for his father to hunt. He knows the truth will come out eventually, because it’s obviously tied somehow to the thing that killed his mother, but, despite the circumstances that brought them together, he’s enjoying hunting with Dean, and he wants their time together to last just a little longer. 

So he changes the subject, lecturing Dean on punching out two cops, and how he’s going to get himself into real trouble with the law one day if he doesn’t watch out, and Dean scoffs and tells him not to worry so much, and gives him a sidelong look that says that the conversation about Jess may be tabled for the moment, but it’s not forgotten. Everything is status quo as the car breaks out onto the open road, but at the next gas station, Sam picks up a double espresso and doesn’t close his eyes again for two days.


	6. Skin

He knows that it’s a bad idea to split up as soon as Sam is out of sight, but by then it’s already too late. They know what the shifter looks like at the moment—an Asian man wearing jeans and a grey t-shirt—but if it has a chance to slip its skin, they’ll be back to square one. So, even as he’s searching the crowds and dark corners, that thought is foremost in his mind—which is probably why he doesn’t see the thing until it’s too late. He feels pain explode through his skull as something hits him from behind. There are a pair of eyes that shift from dark brown to ghostly white as they stare down at him where he’s collapsed in the alley, and then everything goes black.

* * * * * * * * * *

Dean regains consciousness to the sound of Sam’s voice. He’s initially relieved, but when he opens his eyes to find himself staring at a brown canvas tarp that has been thrown over his head, he realizes that Sam isn’t talking to him… Except that he is, because the voice that is answering Sam back is clearly his voice. The realization that the shapeshifter has taken his face as well as his brother makes Dean sick to his stomach. He swallows bile and tries to fight against the ropes holding him down, but his head is pounding too hard for him to move, so he slumps back in his bonds and closes his eyes, breathing shallowly against the pain. Just before darkness overtakes him again, he hears Sam ask, “Where is my brother?” and has the misfortune of hearing the shapeshifter’s answer.

“I am your brother. See, deep down, I’m just jealous. You got friends. You could have a life. Me? I know I’m a freak. And sooner or later, everybody’s gonna leave me.”

* * * * * * * * * *

When it’s all over and they’re finally leaving town, Dean is bracing himself for a barrage of concerned questions. Sam doesn’t know that he heard what the shapeshifter said, but he does know that the shifter was able to tap into Dean’s memories, and it’s not like anything the bastard said was wrong… it just wasn’t the whole truth. Sure, sometimes Dean had been jealous of Sam. When he was all alone in some backwater motel, stitching himself up after ganking some fugly, he would look over at the second bed ( _why did all the cheapest hotel rooms come with two beds, anyway?_ ) and he would think about Sam, sitting safely in his dorm at Stanford, meeting girls and going to parties and living a normal life. He would have given anything to be there with his brother, even though he knew he’d never fit in. But since seeing the pain that his brother has gone through as a result of losing that life, Dean isn’t jealous any more.

There is a part of him that’s terrified that once they find Dad and Sam gets his answers, that Sam will be back to Stanford like a shot, leaving him alone again, but he’s holding out hope that it won’t have to be like that this time. That everything he and Sam are going through while searching for their dad will mean something once it’s all over. That maybe, this time, if Dean asks Sam to stay, he will. Or maybe, if Sam asks him to come along, he won’t have any more reasons to say no.


	7. Hook Man

“We could stay.”

Sam shakes his head. That’s not his life any more. College, a girlfriend, studying in the library and going to parties… he’s left that all behind him now. He wishes they’d never taken this case, though; everything’s going to be a little bit harder now that Dean knows what Sam lost.

“How’s the arm?”

He’s grateful for the change of subject. “It’s nice to get things done by a professional every once in awhile,” he says with a smirk as he peeks at the stitches under the bandage.

“Shut up.” Dean makes a hard right onto the highway. “The number of times I’ve had to sew your sorry ass back together, I might as well be a professional.”

Sam manages a laugh at that, because Dean isn’t wrong. He’d perfected near-professional suturing before he was in high school; they both had. Dad has a few jagged scars as a result of Dean’s first amateur attempts, but it hadn’t taken him long to get the hang of it. He’d read books on the subject, practiced every chance he got, and even took to sewing up the holes in their clothes to help perfect his technique, and Sam had hung on his every instruction until they both knew how to stitch up any wound, no matter how deep.

Thinking of Dean’s first aid skills brings Sam back to the shotgun shells filled with rock salt, and the EMF meter made out of an old Walkman, and the dozens of other tricks of the hunter’s trade that Dean can pull out of his ass at a moment’s notice, and he realizes, maybe for the first time, that his big brother is a genius. Sure, growing up, Sam had always idolized Dean, because he was his big brother and he knew everything, but as he’d gotten older, somewhere along the way, he’d lost sight of Dean’s true brilliance. Dean had been right, after all, when he’d said that it didn’t take a college degree to be a genius—Sam had met plenty of kids well on their way to getting college degrees who were complete idiots—but something about being so good at school and all its mundane subjects had led him to lose sight of the fact that, just because traditional education hadn’t been able to hold Dean’s interest as well, didn’t mean his brother was stupid. Hunting was Dean’s passion, it was what he was good at, and it was where he’d invested all his considerable intellectual energy, and Sam feels more than a little guilty that it has taken him this long to see it.

Worse than that, though, is the fact that Dean, for all of his joking about being smart, doesn’t seem to realize himself just how truly gifted a hunter he is. Now is probably not the time to say anything about it, but Sam promises to do his best not to underestimate Dean’s intelligence any more…

“Dude, it’s just not fair! All those sorority girls, and not one naked pillow fight?”

…No matter how hard he might make it some times.


	8. Bugs

“But I don’t wanna leave! I have a spelling test on Friday that I studied really hard for, and Tommy invited me to his birthday party this weekend! Please, Dad, can’t we stay, just this once?”

“I’m sorry, Sam, but you know we can’t. I have a job in South Dakota, and we have to leave tonight if I’m going to make it in time.”

“But I don’t understand. Other dads have jobs here. Other families don’t have to move around all the time. Can’t you get another job here, just for a little while?”

“No, Sam. This is not up for discussion. Now, go help your brother pack.”

“I hate you! You’re the worst dad ever!”

*************************************

_“Dad never treated us like that.”_

_“Well, Dad never treated you like that. You were perfect. He was all over my case. You don't remember?”_

_“Well, maybe he had to raise his voice, but sometimes, you were out of line.”_

_“Right, like when I said I'd rather play soccer than learn bowhunting.”_

*************************************

“Guess what? I made the soccer team! Our first game’s on Saturday. Will you guys come?”

“Sam, I thought we discussed this. What happened to trying out for archery?”

“I don’t want to learn archery. I want to play soccer. And I’m good! I made three goals at practice today. Please, Dad?”

“Archery’s an important skill, Sam, and your marksmanship still needs some work. Besides, what are you going to do in a few weeks when we have to move on? Is it fair just to leave your team in the lurch like that?”

“I don’t care about that! And it wouldn’t kill us to stay a little longer this time, you know. I’m playing soccer, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me!”

“Fine, Sam, but if I hear you’ve been slacking off on your other training because of it, I’m not going to be happy. Now, go get your brother and tell him that dinner’s ready. I have to leave first thing in the morning, and I’d like us all to have a nice meal together before I go.”

*************************************

_“Dean, you know what most dads are when their kids score a full ride? Proud. Most dads don't toss their kids out of the house.”_

_“I remember that fight. In fact, I seem to recall a few choice phrases comin' out of your mouth.”_

*************************************

“When are you going to get that I don’t want to be like you! I don’t want to always be traveling around the country, risking my life on some stupid crusade! You were able to drag me along with you for this long, because I was just a kid, but I’m eighteen now, and I’m going to Stanford, and I’m going to have a normal life, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me!”

“Fine! Turn your back on this family, Sam! But if you walk out that door, don’t you ever come back!”

*************************************

_“I respected him. But no matter what I did, it was never good enough.”_

_“So what are you sayin'? That Dad was disappointed in you?”_

_“Was? Is. Always has been.”_

_“Why would you think that?”_

_“Because I didn't wanna bowhunt or hustle pool - because I wanted to go to school and live my life, which, to our whacked-out family, made me the freak.”_

*************************************

_*Beep*_

“Sam, it’s Dad. I… I was in the neighborhood today… I drove past campus, and I saw you. You’re looking good, son. Happy. Dean said, last time you talked, you told him you were thinking about studying law? If that’s still your plan, well… good for you. Your mom would be proud of you. Hell, I’m proud of you. Always knew you were brilliant.

I’m sorry for the way we left things, Sam. I didn’t mean what I said, about you never coming back. I just… you don’t know how hard it’s been, trying to keep you safe. There’s something out there, Sam, something worse than all the things I’ve ever hunted. It killed your mother, and for all I know, it’s only a matter of time before it comes after the rest of us. There are things I should have told you, things I… aw, hell. I can’t do this now. Not like this. Not in a message on a machine. Next time I come by, I’ll look you up, do this in person. Love you, son. Take care of yourself.”

_*Message deleted*_


	9. Home

Dean remembers the house. They had moved in when he was two or so. He remembers the excitement of seeing them set up his big-boy bed in his new room, remembers his dad helping him run his racetrack all around the bedroom so that he would never have to take it apart again. He remembers watching, two years later, as they set up his old crib in a room down the hall, of helping them paint it blue and fill it full of clothes and toys for a new baby: his little brother, Sam. He remembers scrambling up into the old rocking chair and holding his arms out, trying not to wriggle with excitement as the little bundle with the wide, dark eyes and curly brown hair was gently placed into his lap. “It’s okay, Sammy,” he had whispered as he held his brother tight. “I’m gonna take care of you. I’m gonna be the best big brother ever, you’ll see.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Dean remembers the fire. He remembers waking up, coughing as smoke filled his room, and running into the hallway to the sound of his dad calling his mom’s name. He remembers his dad looming up out of the smoke and pushing a squirming, crying bundle into his arms. “Take your brother outside as fast as you can,” he had shouted as Dean wrapped his arms around Sammy and held him tight. “Now, Dean, go!” He remembers running, stumbling down the stairs and sliding on the rug in the front hall, his arms wrapped around his baby brother, only letting go with one hand long enough to open the front door. “It’s okay, Sammy,” he had said as soon as they were outside in the front yard, and his brother had stopped crying and had looked up at him with so much trust in his eyes that Dean had forgotten everything for a second. He had forgotten the bite of the cold grass under his feet, the sound of the windows behind him shattering as the fire roared through the house… and then his dad had picked them both up with his big, strong arms, and he’d run into the street, and all Dean could do as the fire trucks pulled up and the neighbors came out to stare, was wonder why his mom hadn’t come out too.

* * * * * * * * * *

Dean remembers his mother. Her hair was like spun gold, and her smile lit up her face like the sun, and she smelled like flowers and things baking. She loved to dance, and sing along with the radio, and he would stand on her feet and she would hold his hands and shuffle him along, sometimes swinging him into the air and spinning him around until he shrieked with laughter. He remembers when Sam was still inside her, sitting on her lap and feeling his brother squirm and kick and asking her what he was going to look like, and if he would have freckles too, and how long until he could teach him how to play race cars and football and trains. He remembers her laughing, and kissing him, and he remembers his dad coming into the room, smiling big and leaning in for a kiss that made her laugh even more because his dad was growing a beard and it tickled her face. He remembers her tucking him into bed at night, singing “Hey Jude” softly under her breath as she stroked his hair and watched his eyes droop closed. “Sleep well, my baby. Angels are watching over you.”


	10. Asylum

“Dean… you want any help with that?……Dean?”

“No, Sam.”

“Dean… can we at least talk about this?”

“Not now, Sam, I’m busy.”

“But… Dean…”

“Jesus, Sam, can you give me a few minutes here? Go take a walk or something!”

*************************************

Dean winced as the hotel room door slammed behind his brother, then slowly finished peeling off his shirt and reached for the tweezers in the first aid kit. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Sam’s help; he just figured his little brother could do without the complete visual of exactly what the results of shooting his big brother in the chest with a shotgun shell full of rock salt looked like. Though it probably looked worse than it felt… Scratch that, it felt exactly as bad as it looked, and once the bruises started to show, it was only going to get worse.

He hissed and groaned as he carefully plucked each piece of rock salt out of his chest with the tweezers, reveling a little bit in the fact that, with Sam gone, he didn’t have to man up and be all stoic and silent about it. When it came time to wrap his chest in bandages, though, he kind of wished he hadn’t chased his brother off. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to do this kind of patch job on his own, though—he’d never forget the cracked ribs he’d sustained going after that poltergeist in New Haven a little over a year ago—so he managed, then he slumped back on his bed, pulled the covers up to his chin, and waited for Sam to come back. The kid wouldn’t have gone far.

He wasn’t entirely sure why Dad being missing was suddenly making Sam so angry when he’d been pretty mellow about the whole thing for the past few months, but Dean wasn’t going to apologize to the kid for doing his job and following orders, and he wasn’t about to talk about what had gone down at the asylum. They’d both made mistakes on this one: they never should have split up in the first place, for starters; Sam’s anger had left him wide open to Elicott’s influence; and Dean should have picked up on the fact that something was wrong with his brother well before Sam had been able to pull a gun on him. It was best just to learn from their mistakes and move on.

But when the first thing Dean saw as soon as he closed his eyes was the look of fury on Sam’s face as he’d pulled the trigger on Dean’s pistol, he started to get a little worried that it wasn’t going to be that easy.

*************************************

Sam winced as he slammed the hotel room door behind him, then made a beeline across the street to the closest convenience store. A couple of aspirin and a big bottle of water later, the throbbing in his head and jaw were slowly starting to fade, though he knew the bruises he’d sustained would be around for longer than he cared to think about. He’d gotten off lightly, though, and he knew it. When he thought about the pain that he would be in right now if Dean hadn’t had the presence of mind to unload his gun…

Suddenly, Sam was on his knees in the dirt behind the store, eyes burning and stomach heaving as everything he’d eaten for dinner, along with the aspirin and the water he’d just downed, ended up on the ground in front of him. After what felt like hours of retching and dry heaves, his stomach finally stopped turning itself inside out and he slumped against the wall, sobbing and sucking in air in harsh, burning gasps as he tried to get himself back under control.

He knew it wasn’t entirely his fault—Elicott’s ghost had simply pushed emotions that were already there into overdrive—but Sam didn’t know why he was so angry all of a sudden. He had spent at least an hour with that psychiatrist, talking about Dean, and somehow all of the good things that he’d meant to say about his brother had ended up morphing into bad things: he was controlling, he didn’t listen, he would rather follow orders than think for himself, he never seemed to be able to take anything seriously…The list had gone on and on, and he’d come out of the whole thing even more angry and resentful than he’d gone in. Even now, though he would have expected breaking Elicott’s curse to have dissipated the anger somewhat, he could still feel it, simmering just below the surface of his skin, like an itch that he was now too afraid to scratch.

Dean would be well within his rights to leave him here, and Sam wasn’t entirely convinced that he shouldn’t, but he didn’t want to be left behind. He still wanted a chance to fix this. Though he knew Dean had been planning to get some sleep before getting back on the road, the thought that he might have changed his mind sent just enough of a jolt of panic through Sam to have him pushing himself to his feet and stumbling back around to the front of the convenience store. When he saw the Impala still parked in front of the hotel, he let out the breath he had been holding. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, wincing as he rubbed over his swelling jaw, then squared his shoulders, and crossed the road again.

Dean was asleep when Sam entered the hotel room. He was lying on his back, which meant that he would probably sleep like crap and wake up complaining about it, but he didn’t appear to be in any pain, and his hands weren’t clutching any weapons, which meant that he didn’t feel like he had anything to fear. Sam breathed a sigh of relief—Dean hadn’t been afraid of what Sam would do when he came back—as he went into the bathroom to wash out his mouth and take more painkillers. He changed into pajama pants and a clean t-shirt, got into bed, and closed his eyes. Maybe all of this would look a little better in the morning.

But when the first thing he saw in his dreams was the look of terrified betrayal in Dean’s eyes as he’d pulled the trigger on that empty pistol, he knew that getting past this wasn’t going to be that easy… for either of them.


	11. Scarecrow

It’s the phone call that does it. Hearing his brother’s voice, trying so hard to apologize and talking about how proud he is of Sam for standing up to Dad… Sam felt the anger leaching out of him at every word. He even had tears in his eyes by the end, though he’d have denied it if anyone had asked. So when he calls Dean back a few hours later, just to see if he found out which pagan god was protecting the orchard, and gets Dean’s voicemail five times in a row, he knows that something is wrong, and he doesn’t hesitate to do whatever it takes to get back to his brother.

The car is older, and well-used, which makes Sam feel guilty even as he shoves an improvised shim into the window slot and pops the door lock. He wishes there was a newer, flashier car that he could take—something with guaranteed insurance, owned by someone who can afford to lose it—but he’s in the parking lot of a bus station in the middle of rural Indiana, which means there’s really only one type of car available. He’ll leave it wherever he finds Dean, though, and maybe place an anonymous call to the police when they’re safely out of the state, informing them about an abandoned car on the side of the road. Hopefully, it’ll make its way back to its owner somehow.

As he finds the wires he needs to use to start the engine, he remembers the first time he watched his brother do this. Dad had made Dean practice on the Impala, telling him that it was important; in case anything ever happened to him on a job, it would be Dean’s responsibility to get himself and Sam to Uncle Bobby or Pastor Jim, using any means necessary. Sam remembers sitting in the back seat, eyes wide as he watched his older brother’s hands deftly strip the wires and tap them together until the Impala’s engine roared to life. Dean’s grin of triumph as he scrambled up into the driver’s seat—at thirteen, he had only just gotten tall enough to reach both the pedals and the steering wheel at the same time—had been as broad and cocky as ever, but Sam was sure he had seen worry in his big brother’s bright green eyes. Fortunately, Dad had always come back from his hunts, so Dean had never been forced to use that particular method of last resort. They both occasionally practiced the skill, just to keep it fresh, but this is the first time Sam’s stolen a car for real. He wonders if Dean ever needed to… though, knowing him, he may have done it once or twice just for fun.

They break the law all the time for this job, but something about driving off in someone else’s car seems more significant than forging credit card applications or impersonating police officers or cheating people out of their money at cards and pool. This is taking someone else’s personal property, for no other reason than that he believes his brother is in danger. If it turns out that Dean just forgot to charge his cellphone and already has the job taken care of by the time Sam gets there, Sam is going to be pissed, but that doesn’t stop him from hot-wiring the engine and taking off down the road towards Burkittsville at top speed. Because there are times when Dean might make him so angry that he can’t see straight, but he’s still Sam’s brother, and Sam is supposed to have his back. He’s sorry that he forgot that, even for a moment, and he vows as he leaves the bus station and his plans for finding Dad in California in the dust, that he won’t let it happen again.


	12. Faith

The tombstone reads “Layla Rourke - beloved daughter”, and below the dates of her birth and death is a Bible verse: “But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint. - Isaiah 40:31.” 

He knows that’s what it says because Layla’s mother told him. Sometimes, when he comes up here to lay flowers on her grave, he’ll kneel down and trace the letters with his finger, trying to read them by touch, but the cut is shallow and the script ornamental and if he didn’t already know what they spelled out, he wouldn’t be able to tell.

Guilt lies heavy on his heart every day, now. He still doesn’t know why he wasn’t able to heal Layla, or why his wife was taken from him that very same night. In his darker moments, he sometimes wonders if the two events were related. Most of the time, though, he is resigned to believe that it was God’s punishment for holding the services not just so that he could heal people, but so that he could be seen doing so, and be worshipped and praised for it. Pride goeth before a fall, after all. He had been proud of his ability to heal people, no matter how humble he had made himself appear, and now, for his sins, he will spend the rest of his life alone except for the whispers about who he used to be that follow him whenever he leaves his house.

Some days, though, his thoughts wander to the young man that he chose to save instead of Layla. His wife had given him Layla’s name that morning, explained to him how worthy and deserving she was, how she had been to every service, how she was young and full of faith… but then he had been interrupted by a doubter’s sarcastic comments, and all of his plans had been derailed. For the first time, it had felt like he was really seeing into someone else’s heart. The man who had interrupted him was young, and sick, and something was telling him that, though there were many more deserving, faithful souls in the audience that day, that young man needed to be saved.

He still believes what he told the young man later, when he’d returned to ask why he’d been chosen to be healed. That young man was doing God’s work on Earth, and he’d needed a strong and healthy heart in order to be able to see that work through. No matter what the former members of his flock say about why he chose to heal a non-believer, he knows the truth. What is harder to accept is the fact that it feels like he sacrificed Layla’s life in order to save someone else. Which is why, on his weekly visits to the cemetery, he lays flowers not on his wife’s grave, but on the grave of a young woman who was taken from this world too soon, whose life was cut short so that another’s might be long and full of the hardships that come with doing God’s work. He comes here to ask for forgiveness, and to pray that God will guide and protect a young man named Dean as he follows the path the Lord laid out for him.


	13. Route 666

The first time, Sam was about eleven years old. He’d walked into the house Dad was renting on the outskirts of some town in Indiana after school one day to find Dean sitting on the couch, lips locked with some girl’s. They broke apart as soon as the door slammed behind him, the girl looking guilty and Dean yelling at him to knock next time. With a grimace of disgust, Sam had run to their bedroom and closed the door. Dean had come in half an hour later to tell him that the girl was gone and to ask him not to tell Dad. Sam had seen her again a few times, holding Dean’s hand and kissing him on the cheek, but he never caught her name. At least, it explained why Dean was moody for a week after they moved on, though he never said anything about it to Dad.

About a year later, they pulled into Stillwater, Oklahoma at the start of the school year with a promise from Dad that they were going to stay for a whole semester. And he’d meant it, too, Sam was sure. He’d gotten a house with separate rooms for all three of them, and a job at a garage, and had encouraged them both to sign up for after-school activities. Dean held on for nearly a month before he apparently believed that Dad was sincere. Sam first caught them making out behind the high school gym after Dean left him waiting by the car after school for over half an hour. Her name was Angela; she had strawberry-blonde hair and bright blue eyes, and she and Dean were nearly inseparable from that moment on. Sam got a little jealous—he was used to being the one that Dean took to the movies or the comic book store, after all—but seeing his brother happy, and excited about school, and talking about something other than when they were going to move to the next town made Sam happy too. He hadn’t quite understood what Dean saw in girls before, but after watching them kiss a few times, and seeing the way that Angela made Dean smile and laugh, Sam couldn’t wait to find a girl that he liked like that some day.

And then, Dad had to break his promise, packing them up after only two months in that town. That was one of the first times that Sam had ever seen Dean fight with their father. He had yelled a lot of things about how it wasn’t okay for Dad to make promises about having a normal life and then break them, then he had stormed out of the house. Dad had waited until almost midnight before going after him, and after he dragged Dean back and shoved him into the car so they could put Stillwater behind them, Dean hadn’t spoken a word to anyone for a week.

That was the last time Sam ever saw Dean take a relationship seriously. For the next year or so, he messed around with girls in every school they went to, hooking up with the prettiest girl that would give him the time of day one week, then dumping her for her best friend the next, or stringing two or more girls along for weeks at a time until one of them caught him with the other in the janitor’s closet or under the bleachers in the gym. He would wax perversely eloquent over his latest conquest’s physical attributes whenever he wanted to make Sam blush, but he never brought girls home with him any more, and Sam rarely ever knew their names. And after he dropped out of school, his hookups became even more fleeting. If there was a king of pickup lines and one-night stands, it was Sam’s big brother. He always talked about it as if it didn’t bother him—“It’s the life, Sammy; not like I was gonna be sticking around anyway; lettin’ ‘em know where they stand’s better than breakin’ their hearts”—but Sam never forgot that it wasn’t just the girls’ hearts that had been broken when Dean had been forced to leave his few real girlfriends behind.

It always hurt to think about how hard Dean worked to try and convince himself that he didn’t need or want a normal, happy relationship with a girl, especially after Sam finally worked up the courage to ask Jess out and found with her all of the happiness that he had once only dreamed of. So he’s glad to find out about Cassie. He can’t tell Dean that, of course—there’s no way to explain how happy it makes him that his brother was willing to try and find love and a real relationship with a girl again, even if it didn’t last—but he’s afraid that his smile every time he sees them kissing gives him away. It makes him feel eleven years old again, watching his brother lead the way, seeing in Dean’s example a way to move forward and find peace with what he’s lost, what he longs for, and what he may some day have again.


	14. Nightmare

Two days out of Saginaw, they’ve stopped for the night on the side of some rural highway. Dean’s in the front seat, browsing the local papers he’d picked up at the diner where they stopped for dinner for any sign of a case, when Sam, who’s stretched out in the back seat, starts to whimper and thrash around. Before Dean can even sit up, he bolts awake, eyes wild and breathing harsh. It’s his third nightmare in as many hours.

“More visions, Sammy?” Dean asks as he sets the papers aside and slides along the seat until he’s within reach. He swallows a sigh of relief when Sam shakes his head, and he doesn’t pull back this time when Sam’s hands reach for his face, his fingers stuttering across Dean’s forehead.

“He shot you,” Sam whispers, confirming that it is the same dream as before, still lingering long after the vision that Sam had suffered had failed to come to pass.

“Not shot, Sammy, I promise.” Dean grabs his brother’s hands and presses them both to his chest to stop them shaking, calming Sam further as he feels Dean’s heart beating. “I’m not going anywhere, remember?”

Sam nods, slowly, but he doesn’t look convinced. It’s still too real to Sam, Dean realizes. It’s been less than a month since that rawhead almost punched his clock for good, since he’d sat in a hospital bed and told his brother to leave him behind to die, and then Sam had to go and have a vision of him getting shot in the head by a crazy psychic. And given that the poor kid had had dreams about Jessica just before she’d died…

He isn’t going to let Sam suffer like that this time. Not when this is a fear that he can actually do something about. He’s just going to ignore the fact that they’re both grown men for a little while, because Sam is and always will be his little brother, and no matter how old they get, some things will never change. He lets go of Sam’s hands—soothing the brief whimper that escapes from his brother with a smile—just long enough to pull the lever that reclines the front seat and push it down so that it is level with the back seat, then he slides into the back seat across from his brother, stretches out along the bench, and holds out his arms. And, just like he’d done when he was a little kid, Sam comes right to him, wrapping his own arms around Dean’s chest and burying his face against his shoulder.

“You mention this to anyone in the morning, even me, and I’ll deny everything,” Dean teases lightly as Sam twists himself into a more comfortable position. The poor kid’s a bit too tall to stretch out comfortably in the back seat any more, Dean notices with a sad smile, but at the moment, he doesn’t seem to mind. When he finally stops moving, his head is on Dean’s chest, one ear pressed into his ribcage directly over his heart, and his hand has found the amulet around Dean’s neck and is holding it in a loosely-clenched fist.

“Try to get some sleep, okay?” Dean soothes as he runs a free hand through Sam’s hair. Sam murmurs softly and closes his eyes. “I’m right here; not going anywhere.”

As Dean watches Sam drift off to sleep, the promise he had made to his brother in that hotel room floats back through his mind, and before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s humming softly under his breath.

_Nothin’s gonna harm you, not while I’m around_

_Nothin’s gonna harm you, no sir, not while I’m around_

_Demons are prowling everywhere, nowadays_

_I’ll send them howling, I don’t care, I’ve got ways_

The song is from some high school play that he’d agreed to do sets for because he had a massive crush on the girl that was playing one of the leads. He doesn’t remember the school, or what year he was in at the time, or even the name of the play, but he has never forgotten the song. On the day that he’d heard it for the first time, his dad had pulled up to the school early, with Sam and all their gear already stuffed into the back seat, and had driven them out of town without explanation. That night, with Sammy curled up sound asleep in his lap in the back of this very car, Dad had mentioned demons to him for the first time, and had told Dean that he believed that they were after Sam.

_No one’s gonna hurt you, no one’s gonna dare_

_Others can desert you, not to worry, whistle, I’ll be there_

_Demons’ll charm you with a smile, for a while, but in time_

_Nothin’ can harm you, not while I’m around_

Though he’ll never admit it to his brother, Dean is terrified of what Sam’s newfound visions could mean, especially since the powers now seem connected to the demon that killed their mother. Worse, what does it mean that there are other kids out there just like Sam, kids with powers whose mothers had burned to death on their nursery ceilings? He wishes his dad were here to tell him what to do, to carry some of this load, but his dad hadn’t shown up when he was dying, so what would leaving him a message about this accomplish? Besides, he already knows what John Winchester would say. “Look after Sammy. Take care of your brother.” Not that it needs saying after all these years. It’s been his prime directive since he was four years old.

“As long as I’m around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you, little brother,” Dean whispers into Sam’s hair. Then, he closes his eyes and does his best to drift off to sleep, praying that his presence will keep Sam’s nightmares at bay until sunrise, at least.


	15. The Benders

It’s far too quiet in the country. It’s quiet enough that Sam hears the whoops and hollers when they start up just outside the barn. Jenkins has been gone for less than five minutes. Less than ten minutes have passed when Sam first hears him scream. It’s brief, which leads Sam to hope that they killed the man quickly, but then the shouts start up again. A few minutes later, though it’s made faint and tinny by distance, the screams come again, long and loud and agonizing… the screams of a dying man.

He hears them drag the body back. They’re laughing, and saying something about it getting too easy. Sam breathes a sigh of relief when they don’t come back into the barn. He wonders when they’ll come for him. It’s obvious what they’re doing now, but at least Sam can promise that he won’t be easy prey. Dean might think that four years of college made him soft, but he’s still a hunter, and he’d never be able to face his brother or his father again if he let a bunch of inbred rednecks get the better of him.

His mind and body war for dominance that night when it comes to the question of sleep. Sam wants to keep them from getting the drop on him again, but he also knows that if he wants to have a chance against them when the time comes, he needs to keep his strength up. In the end, it doesn’t matter, because the few times that his eyes do close on him, nightmares keep him from getting any real rest. At least they aren’t about fire, or the people he loves dying, but he hadn’t really wanted to add being locked in a cage and chased through the woods by psychotic hillbillies to the library of things that will keep him from ever getting a good night’s sleep again.

In the morning, when the barn doors open, Sam is ready for a fight, but he doesn’t get one. He gets two sausages and a hunk of bread on a tin plate shoved into his cage instead, and then the war inside his head begins again. In the end, he decides the bread is probably safe, but he isn’t going to risk eating the sausages. These freaks hunt humans; there’s every reason for Sam to suspect that they do more than just stuff and mount the poor souls once they’re dead. The thought turns his stomach, but he manages to swallow the bread, chuck the sausages as far away from the cage as he can get them, and then go back to playing the waiting game.

It’s going on evening, and Sam is starting to get a little stir-crazy, when the barn door opens again. The two rednecks enter, dragging another prisoner: a woman, stripped down to a white t-shirt, khaki pants, and combat boots and bleeding from several cuts on one side of her head. Something about her screams ‘cop’, though, so as soon as they’re alone again, Sam sits up and waits with baited breath for her to regain consciousness. When the first thing she says upon seeing him is, “Are you Sam Winchester?” he can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. If she knows his name, that can mean only one thing: everything is going to be all right. His brother is coming for him.


	16. Shadow

“Will you hold still?”

“Sam, it’s fine. They’re not that bad, really.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll thank me when you don’t have to explain to the next girl you try to pick up why you look like you just went ten rounds with a cougar.”

“… Fair enough. But don’t think you’re getting out of the same treatment just as soon as you’re done.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else. …Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“About what you said back in the hotel room…”

“Come on, Sam. Do we have to talk about this now? I’m sitting here with my chest and half my face torn up.”

“I just… It’s not you that I want to leave behind. You know that, right? It’s just this life.”

“Yeah, Sam. I get it. I really do. And for what it’s worth, there’s a part of me that wants you to get as far away from all this as possible. But… Sam… hunting is all I know. It’s all I’ve got. I’m glad you can walk away, but I can’t, so when you say you just can’t wait to get back to your safe, normal life…”

“But this doesn’t have to be your life, Dean! You ever think the maybe I want safe and normal for you too? You think I didn’t worry about you every day when I was at school, wondering if all I was going to get was a phone call telling me that you were…”

“Woah, woah, hold up there, Sammy. Don’t want my stitches getting all crooked.”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just, with us getting so close to the demon, and finally seeing Dad… I still can’t believe you let him go like that, you know? I mean, I know why you did it, but I just… Do you think we’ll see him again?”

“Of course we will, Sammy. When he’s ready to take the thing out, he’s gonna need backup, and we’re the only ones he can really count on. We’ll see this whole thing through, as a family, and once it’s done… maybe it doesn’t have to be as black and white as you going back to college and me hitting the road, okay? Now, you’ve been messing with that gauze for, like, five minutes or something. It’s fine. Sit back, and let me take care of you now, okay?”

“Okay, jerk. Just, try to keep me looking less hideous than you, okay?”

“No promises, bitch.”


	17. Hell House

1991

They’re on their way back from school when Dean finds a five dollar bill in a gutter less than a block down from the local candy store. Without a second thought, he grabs Sam’s hand and drags him inside. “Get whatever you want, Sam.” But two weeks ago, Sam had listened to a dentist that had come into their classroom to talk to them about taking care of their teeth, and he had been very clear about how bad candy was for them, so while Dean is filling a bag with a scoop from every bin along the wall, Sam goes to look at the toys instead.

“Dean, what’s a whoopee cushion?”

“Oh, man, Sammy, those are great! How have you never heard of one before? You want that instead of candy?” Sam nods. Dean pays and gives Sam the fifteen cents in change since his new toy didn’t cost as much as Dean’s candy, and on the way home, he promises to show Sam exactly how it works. “You’re gonna love it, Sam. It’s gonna be hilarious.”

That night, when Dad comes home, dinner is already on the table, and both boys are sitting and waiting for him. As soon as he sits down, a loud “phtbbt” noise emanates from his chair. Sam’s eyes go wide, Dean bursts out laughing, and with a grin, Dad pulls the now-deflated red rubber bag out from underneath him.

For a month after that, no seat is safe from the wrath of the whoopee cushion. They make a rule that the prank’s latest victim takes possession of the toy, but after a while, Sam begins to suspect that Dean is sneaking it out of Dad’s luggage whenever Dad confiscates it, because he manages to prank everyone else a lot more often than he himself gets pranked. When it shows up one day with a knife slash through it, ensuring that it can never inflate again, it’s no big loss, though. Dad apologizes, saying that he accidentally stuck it in the weapons bag, but Sam notices that he doesn’t promise to replace it.

1997

It starts with a toothbrush.

Sam gets a new one from some health fair at school that Dean ditched. He could have picked up two—no one would have cared—but he didn’t even think about his brother, which annoys Dean to no end. So, every chance he gets, he uses Sam’s new toothbrush instead of his own.

It takes a week for Sam to catch on, but one morning, when Dean goes into the bathroom, Sam’s toothbrush is nowhere to be seen, and Dean’s toothbrush has been shoved bristles-first into a bar of soap. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or get pissed as he tosses the old toothbrush and the soap into the trash and uses a finger to spread toothpaste over his teeth. The little squirt has more guts than Dean had given him credit for. But Dean can’t let this challenge go unanswered.

Two days later, Sam discovers that someone put an open bottle of hand lotion from the bathroom in the bottom of his duffel, soaking all of his clean underwear in flowery-smelling goop. The next morning, Dean wakes up to find all of his clothes sitting in the bathtub, soaking wet. Sam’s toothpaste gets replaced with shaving cream; Dean’s razor turns dull overnight and all the extra blades go missing. Finally, Dean hits on the ultimate prank: he mixes Nair into Sam’s shampoo. When his brother comes out of the shower the next day screaming with rage and looking like he has a bad case of mange, Dean laughs his ass off, and gets a black eye for his trouble. Despite being a skinny little twerp, the kid can really pack a punch when he catches Dean off-guard.

The next day, Dean is bracing himself for a truly heinous act of revenge as he follows a silent and now completely bald Sam to school. The poor kid doesn’t look angry anymore, though; he just looks miserable, bundled up in a hoodie despite the near-summer heat. At lunchtime, Dean catches a couple kids harassing Sam, making fun of his bald head, and he realizes that he’s gone too far this time. It’s one thing to cause each other discomfort, but when one of their pranks makes the other a target for outsiders… Dean’s more angry at himself than the punks harassing his brother, but he takes it out on them and gets both himself and Sam suspended for a week.

“I’m so sorry, kiddo,” Dean says that night as they’re lounging in front of the TV, eating all of Sam’s favorite foods and trying to figure out how to explain Sam’s bald head and the suspension to Dad when he comes home in a few days. “Things got a little out of hand this time, I guess. Truce?”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “You kinda made up for it by fixing it so I don’t have to go back to school for a week. Hopefully we can pass it off to Dad as a really bad haircut; you know he’s been bugging me to get one for months, anyway.” Then, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a brand new toothbrush. He tosses it to Dean, Dean grins, and in the wrestling match over the last of the gummy worms five minutes later, all is forgiven.

2000

“C’mon, Sam, lighten up! It was just a joke.”

“It’s not very funny, Dean.” Sam is sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala, picking flakes of superglue off of the palm of his hand. Three days ago, Dean had caught Sam talking on the phone to Linda Hamilton, a girl he’d gone on a few dates with in the last town they’d been in, and ever since, Dean had been insufferable. It started with the offers for tips on how to give good phone sex, then boxes of tissues and bottles of lotion left out in strategic locations, and had culminated in him waking up this morning to discover that Dean had covered the palm of his right hand in hair and superglue.

“I’m telling you, Sammy, you got off lucky. I hear doing that sorta thing too often can also make you go blind.”

Sam glares at him and returns to his task. Fortunately, it’s summertime, so he doesn’t have to worry about explaining the mess on his palm to anyone at school, but he continues to give Dean the silent treatment until his brother drops him off at the library to finish researching the ghost that they’re hunting this week. Sam walks through the library’s front doors, waits until the rumble of the Impala’s engine has died away, then turns around and heads back outside. He’d discovered all he needed to know about the ghost yesterday, but hasn’t told Dean yet, partly out of anger at his brother’s harassment, but mostly because Dean hasn’t asked. As long as Dean thinks Sam is busy, Sam knows where he’ll be, and after this morning’s humiliation, he deserves everything that he has coming to him.

Sam takes his time walking across town and gets to the bar that Dean has been frequenting every day over the last week just in time to see him heading out the front door with a girl on his arm. Sam crouches behind a dumpster and watches as they get into the Impala and drive a few blocks down to the girl’s house. Once they’re inside and, presumably, preoccupied, Sam sneaks up to the car and gets to work. He disconnects the battery and moves the front seat up just far enough to keep Dean from being able to easily get into the car, then he pulls out his cellphone and places a call to the office where the girl’s father works, telling him that he needs to come home right away.

Sam is hiding in the bushes and trying not to let his laughter give him away as he watches the father storm home and chase Dean out of the house with his pants around his ankles. He’s fighting back tears of mirth as he watches Dean struggle to get behind the wheel and start to panic when the car doesn’t start, but his glee turns immediately to terror when he sees the girl’s father come out of the house with a baseball bat. He smashes both of the car’s driver-side windows, and Dean catches a nasty blow to his left shoulder as he gets out of the car to protect it before Sam manages to break cover and come running up, shouting, “Don’t hurt my brother! Please, don’t hurt my brother!”

Between Sam and the girl, they manage to drag Dean and the father apart, and placate him long enough to allow Dean and Sam to push the car out of his driveway and back down the street to the bar. Sam is shaking and barely holding back tears by the time they arrive, and he doesn’t even give Dean a chance to notice that something’s wrong before breaking down.

“Oh, god, Dean, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He can barely stand to look at his brother, not knowing what he will see on Dean’s face.

“What are you talking about, Sammy? You saved my ass back there.”

“I… I was the one who messed with the car and called her dad. I was so mad at you for making fun of me the last few days… But I swear I didn’t know he’d get that angry. I’ll do anything to make it up to you, I swear.”

“You…” Sam can hear the fury in his brother’s voice, but then Dean takes a deep breath, and when he speaks again, he sounds a little calmer. “What did you do to the car, Sam?”

“Just disconnected the battery,” Sam whispers, swallowing back another sob. He hears Dean pop the hood, reconnect the battery, and slam it shut again, but he doesn’t look up until he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on,” Dean says as Sam looks up at him. He looks more apologetic himself than angry, and he reaches out a hand to help Sam to his feet, which Sam takes. “One of the guys at the garage owes me a favor, so it won’t be any trouble to get the windows replaced. You wanna help me?” Sam nods.

They’re both quiet as they get in the car, but after they’ve been on the road for a few minutes, Dean breaks the silence. “I’m sorry about teasing you like I did, Sam. I can’t promise it won’t happen again, but can we make a deal?”

“What’s that?”

“No more pranks that mess with the car, okay?”

“Deal.”

2006

In retrospect, the pranks they’d subjected one another to this time around were relatively tame. The last time Dean had used the itching powder trick, Sam had been in middle school, and turning up the volume on the stereo in the Impala was positively bush league compared to what he used to do before messing with the car had been declared off-limits. Supergluing Dean’s beer bottle to his hand had been a long-overdue payback, but other than that… It was the pranks that they’d pulled on the two “ghost hunters”—pretending to be a movie producer in order to send them off to California, and putting a dead fish in the back seat of their car—that had been truly inspired. And the fact that they’d come up with the ideas independently was a welcome reminder of something that he’d always known: that they were at their best when they were working together, whether the goal was stopping an invincible monster or just shaking a couple of idiots off their trail.

Sam wants to tell Dean as much, but it will probably have to wait. He doubts Dean will be particularly receptive to the message when he comes out of the bathroom and discovers that Sam has short-sheeted his bed. Of course, it’s less than he deserves for pulling the whole “shaving cream in the hand and a feather up the nose” trick on Sam last night while he was sleeping. Their truce hadn’t even managed to last the hundred miles that Dean had promised, but that’s okay. As long as they’re going with the juvenile classics, Sam can keep this up forever. He wonders if this town has a joke shop; it’s been a long time since he’s seen a whoopee cushion…


	18. Something Wicked

Sam doesn’t understand why Dad has to go away all the time. Sometimes, it’s just for a couple hours, or a day, or a night, and sometimes Dad leaves him and Dean at Pastor Jim’s and is gone for a whole week or more. And then there are the times like this, when it’s just him and Dean in a hotel room, and he doesn’t know when Dad’s coming back.

He didn’t cry this time. He’s a big boy now—he’ll be starting school soon—and big boys don’t cry. But he doesn’t say goodbye, either, because if he tries to open his mouth, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to act like a big boy any more. So he keeps his eyes on the TV, and pretends that he doesn’t hear Dad telling Dean what to do before closing the door behind him and driving off.

Dean stands at the door until the rumble of the Impala has faded away, then he comes over and looks down at Sam. He looks worried. Sam tries to look brave, hoping Dean won’t make fun of him, but all Dean says is, “Hey, Sammy, there any room in that chair for me?”

Sam looks down and sees that there might be a little extra room next to him for his big brother, and Dean likes Thundercats too, so Sam doesn’t mind scooting over and letting Dean sit next to him. With a small smile, Dean plops down in the chair, then grabs Sam around the waist and hoists him up so that he’s sitting halfway on Dean’s lap. “Don’t worry, Sammy,” Dean says, whispering into his ear like it isn’t just the two of them in the room. “Dad’ll be back before you know it, and I’m always here. I’ll take care of you.” Sam nods, trusting Dean. When his brother’s arms are around him and it’s just the two of them, alone, Sam doesn’t have to be so big and brave any more. He sniffs hard and wipes threatening tears out of his eyes, then lays back against Dean’s shoulder. They sit there in silence for a while, watching cartoons, and then Dean asks him what he wants for dinner.

“Pskettios?”

Sam knows he doesn’t say it right, but Dean just grins and says, “You wanna help?” and Sam thinks that maybe Dad being gone isn’t so bad after all.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam wakes up to Dad’s arms around him, pulling him out of bed and holding him too tight. Sam is shivering, though he doesn’t feel cold. The room smells like gun smoke, the window is broken, and Dean is standing in the doorway, looking terrified. “What’s going on?” he tries to ask, but nobody answers him. Dad wraps him up in a blanket and carries him to the car. Sam falls asleep again while Dad and Dean are packing up the rest of their stuff. When he wakes up again, it’s to Dad carrying him into Pastor Jim’s house. The next morning, Dad is gone, and Dean won’t talk to him.

“I’m sorry about the Lucky Charms,” Sam tells Pastor Jim. “Can you tell Dean I’m sorry?” He’d given Dean the toy surprise from the box, and Dean had seemed okay with it, but now he leaves the room every time Sam comes in, and Sam doesn’t know what else he could have done to make his brother mad at him.

“Dean’s not mad at you, son,” Pastor Jim tries to explain, but Sam doesn’t understand. There’s no one else around for Dean to be mad at, except Dad, and Dean’s never mad at Dad. “Something bad happened, and he’s just a little scared because he doesn’t want it to happen again.”

“Was it something I did?”

“No, Sam, it wasn’t. Just give Dean some time, okay? When you’re older, you’ll understand.”

“When will I be older?” Sam hates when people say that to him. He only has one birthday a year, after all, and Dean does too, which means that he’s never going to be as old as Dean. Does that mean that no one is ever going to tell him anything?

“Sooner than you think, son. Sooner than you think.” Pastor Jim sounds sad, so Sam gives him a hug, then he runs off to find Dean.

His brother is in their room, reading a comic book on his bed. “Dee?” Sam says hesitantly as he comes in. “Whatever happened, I’m sorry.”

Dean’s head shoots up. “What do you know about it?” He sounds angry, but Sam isn’t going to run away.

“Nothing.” He finds himself pouting instead. “No one ever tells me anything. Even Pastor Jim says I’m too little. Am I ever gonna be big enough to know things, Dee?”

That gets his brother’s attention. “Of course you are, Sammy,” he says as he closes his book and climbs off the bed. “Just… don’t be in such a hurry, okay? There may be some things you think you want to know, but you really don’t.” He holds out his arms, and Sam runs to him and gets caught in a hug that almost takes his breath away. “I’m sorry for making you think I was angry with you, Sammy. Let me make it up to you?”

“Read to me?” Sam asks as he hugs his brother back. “About the knights?”

“Sure thing.” Dean picks Sam up and drops him on the bed, then pulls a book about King Arthur out of his duffel bag and climbs up next to Sam. As Dean opens the page and starts to read, Sam curls up against his side and looks at the pictures. He knows kids are supposed to want to be knights or superheroes or football players when they grow up, but he will just be happy if he gets to be like Dean. His big brother might get scared and mad and sad sometimes, but he’s still the smartest, bravest person Sam knows, and no matter what happens, Sam knows he’ll be safe and happy as long as he has Dean looking out for him.


	19. Provenance

“Intro to Art History? Why would I want to take something like that?”

“Because, Sam,” his roommate, Brady, said with a grin, “you need another liberal arts elective, and there’s nothing better than art courses for meeting girls.” At Sam’s incredulous look, Brady gave an exasperated shrug. “Come on, man, it’ll be good for you. You’ve basically been a monk for the two-and-a-half years that I’ve known you. There’s more to life than studying.”

“I know that, dude. Even if I didn’t, you remind me every single time you drag me to a party. I just… I’m focussing on other things right now.”

“Fine,” Brady sighed, “but you’re not getting out of taking this course with me. I’m not going to suffer through it alone. Besides, you never know when a little culture might come in handy.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“Oh, god, I am so sorry!”

Sam picked himself up off the classroom floor and shook his head to clear it, then reached down to help the girl who had crashed into him pick up her books. “That’s okay,” he said with a smile. “Happens to the best of us.” The girl was tall, with blonde hair and a beautiful smile. Sam suddenly found himself tongue-tied as he looked her in the face.

“Jess! Fancy meeting you here!” Brady had just bounded into the classroom behind Sam.

“What are you talking about, Brady?” Jess asked, breaking eye contact with Sam as she turned to look at the unwelcome intruder. “You were the one who asked me if I was taking this course in the first place.”

“And you’ve already met my roommate, I see!” Brady plowed on enthusiastically. “Sam Winchester, meet Jessica Moore. Jess, this is Sam.”

Finding his voice again, Sam smiled at Jess and held out his hand. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you.”

Jess gave him another blinding smile and gave his hand a firm shake. “Likewise. Brady won’t shut up about you most of the time. I’m glad to finally meet you. It’ll help separate the fact from the fiction.”

Brady gave a loud laugh at that and slapped them both on the shoulders. “You crazy kids! Now, where are we all sitting?”

Sam looked longingly towards the back of the room, but Jess was already dropping her books onto a desk in the first row. Brady shoved him towards the seat next to her, and Sam found himself taking it with only a little reluctance.“I’m sorry about Brady,” he whispered in Jess’s ear as Brady took a seat in the row behind them. “He’s had a rough time of it lately, and he seems to be trying to live vicariously through me. His latest mission is getting me to meet girls.”

“That’s okay,” Jess whispered back. “I know what he’s been going through too, and he means well. Besides, you’re kinda cute.”

Sam blushed. “But I don’t know the first thing about art, so you’re probably going to think I’m all looks and no brains by the time this is over.”

“Not a chance. You’re pre-law, right? So that means you’ve got plenty of brains. And if you need any help in this course, I’m happy to be of assistance.”

“Yeah? Maybe over coffee after class?”

“Sam, the class hasn’t even started.”

“I know.” Sam couldn’t quite believe the words that were coming out of his mouth, or how much he suddenly seemed to be channeling his big brother, but he couldn’t help himself. He really liked this girl, and he wanted to get to know her better. “But something tells me I’m going to need a lot of help.”

*************************************

As Sam left Sarah Blake behind, he couldn’t help but wonder how things would have been different if he’d told Jess all about hunting and the life he’d led before going to Stanford. Sarah had reminded him so much of Jess; she was smart, funny, strong-willed, and determined. She had taken the revelation that ghosts were real surprisingly well, and though she had admitted to being afraid, that hadn’t stopped her from stepping up and handling herself well in a crisis. After meeting her, there was little doubt in Sam’s mind that Jess would have reacted to being told about the existence of the supernatural in the exact same way. A part of him had probably known that all along. But he hadn’t told her because he hadn’t wanted any part of that in his new life. Would that knowledge have saved her? Maybe not, but now he’d never know, and that was always the part of losing her that would hurt the worst.


	20. Dead Man's Blood

Mary,

You would have been so proud of our boys today. I know this was never the life you would have wanted for them—it isn’t the life that I want for them, either, but with you gone and Sam in danger… well, I hope that you can understand why I raised them like I did. And, in spite of all of it, they’ve grown up great.

I know I’m hard on them sometimes, and it’s hard to look at them and not still see two little kids that once needed more care and protection than I felt like I could give them on my own. But they’ve done a good job of reminding me that they’re not kids any more. Sammy, for all that he questions everything I say, is doing it with a purpose now. Maybe he always was, and it just took me this long to notice, but it’s obvious now that his questions don’t just arise out of obstinacy, but out of a desire for knowledge. He’s always been so smart; seeing him apply that knowledge to hunting makes me prouder than I deserve to be, because it wasn’t me who brought him to this place. It wasn’t me who helped him find purpose and drive again after his girlfriend’s death. It should have been me, but I couldn’t take the risk, so that’s all on Dean.

And Dean’s changed too, which was something I never expected. Talking back to me, breaking up fights, disobeying orders in order to save my life… a part of me still wants to be angry, but I just can’t. Because isn’t that what every parent wants for their children? To see them become their own people, to start thinking for themselves, to make decisions like adults? I’ve spent so many years treating them like soldiers—years that I can never get back, no matter how much I want to—and soldiers follow orders. But Sam and Dean aren’t my soldiers; they’re our sons, and I suppose it’s past time for me to realize that they are grown men now, capable of hunting on their own, and protecting themselves, and making the right decisions without me having to tell them what to do all the time.

Do you think every parent goes through this? This time of uncertainty, when you can’t quite let go of the children that your children no longer are? I was so eager for them to grow up once, for them to be old enough and smart enough and strong enough to protect themselves if anything should ever happen to me. And now that that day is here… I’m scared, Mary. Not for myself, but for them. Because they have grown into such amazing young men, and all I see is the life that we wished for them when they were born, a life that now, because of me, they can never have. I’m scared that they will never know the happiness I felt with you, that they will never have a home, or a family, or children of their own.

I’m so sorry, Mary, because I was the one who took that life away from them, who stole that future from them both before they were even old enough to miss it. And yet, I can’t help but be proud of the men they have become. And I think, in spite of it all, that you would be proud of them too. I hope that you can forgive me for everything that I’ve done in hopes of finding some peace for you, and once this is all over—and it will be over soon, I promise—I hope that our sons can find some peace as well, and happiness, and the lives that they deserve.

Yours forever,

John


	21. Salvation

If someone had told him at twenty-nine that some day he would find himself on a rooftop turning a cistern of rainwater into holy water to give him protection from demons, he would have called them crazy. Back then, he thought he had known evil. He had survived a war, killed men and seen men killed. He thought he was a good man, with a good life: a steady job at a shop with his name over the door, a wife and two beautiful sons. And then, one night, it was all ripped away from him. He saw the face of true evil, and he feels like he’s been lost ever since.

Sure, he’s had a purpose—keep his boys safe and find the thing that killed his Mary—but when this is what it’s come down to? When he’s standing in an abandoned warehouse, hundreds of miles from his sons, while they face down the most evil thing he knows in all the world in his stead… he can’t help but feel as if he’s done something wrong. As if the last twenty-two years of his life have been wasted chasing the wrong things, learning the wrong things, and passing the wrong things on to his children. He knows he hasn’t done the best he could by them, but the thought that he could have done anything else… well, that just picked a hell of a time to cross his mind.

What if he hadn’t found out about the things that lurked in the shadows, the true evil that stalks this world? What if he had gone on, as a mechanic and a single father, never learning about demons or monsters or ghosts? What if he had taught his boys how to throw a football instead of fire a gun, or helped them with their homework instead of their Latin? What if his boys had grown up in a house, instead of in hotel rooms and the back seat of a ’67 Impala? What if they’d gone to the same schools in the same town their whole lives, made friends, had girlfriends, gone to college? What if…

But.

But Sam has visions. Sam tried to have that normal life, and it ended with his girlfriend burning on the ceiling, just like Mary had. No matter how he looks at it… his family was touched by evil the night that Mary died, and if he had just ignored it, if he had just tried to soldier on and live a normal life, they might all be dead by now. And there would be no one now poised to stop the demon from destroying another family’s life… and another’s… and another’s. However he may have failed his boys, John knows that he did not fail to teach them how to fight, how to protect themselves, and how to protect others. They will come through tonight, of that he has no doubt. So he squares his shoulders, takes a deep breath, and walks into the warehouse.

He knows it’s a trap. He knows he may never see his sons again. But he also knows that all the sacrifices he has made in his life were worth it, because the demon that destroyed his family dies tonight.


	22. Devil's Trap

_“Anything you wanna know about demons, go see Bobby Singer. If there’s any hunter who could be considered an expert in demons, it’s him.”_

He can hear Rumsfeld barking from inside the garage at the back of the property. Pup’s got a good set of vocal cords on him; assuming he’s not going apeshit over another squirrel on the roof, he’s gonna make a great guard dog. He’s wiping the grease off his hands as he comes around the house and sees that he’s got a visitor: there’s a black ’67 Chevy Impala sitting in his driveway. It looks well-maintained, if a little hard-ridden, and there’s a dark-haired man in ripped jeans and a battered leather jacket leaning on her hood, well out of the pup’s range.

“You Bobby Singer?”

Bobby nods. “Rumsfeld, hush!” he commands, and the dog goes quiet. Yup, gonna be the perfect guard dog. “Who’re you?”

“Name’s John Winchester. I understand you’re the man to see about demon lore.”

Bobby shrugs. “You understand correctly, but I don’t usually discuss it in the front yard. Wanna come inside, do this over a few drinks?”

John hesitates a moment at this, then glances over his shoulder at the car. “Sure,” he says, “long as it won’t take too long.”

“Why?” Bobby asks, getting suspicious. “You got someplace else you need to be?”

“No,” John says, crossing his arms defensively and moving to get in front of Bobby as he gets closer to the car. “Let’s just take this inside.”

Bobby’s about to agree, but then he catches a flash of motion from one of the car windows that has him on high alert. He sidesteps John and gets a good look into the car’s back seat before the younger man grabs him by the arm and practically throws him away from the car.

“What you got in the car, John?” Bobby’s cursing himself for not having a gun on him, but so far, the man has simply been defensive, not aggressive, so he keeps his cool as he waits to see how this plays out.

“Nothing. Why?”

“Because it looks to me like you got two kids back there. And you better tell me they’re yours, otherwise I’m siccen’ Rumsfeld on you here and callin’ the cops.”

John relaxes only a fraction at this. “Yeah, they’re my boys. What of it?”

“And you were just gonna leave ‘em out here?”

“Most hunters ain’t too keen on havin’ a couple’a kids runnin’ around,” John says with a shrug and a hard look.

“Well, I ain’t most hunters.” That’s not entirely true. Bobby has no interest in children, and, in truth, would rather not have them running all over his house, but he isn’t about to just let two little boys sit in a car in his front yard when it’s threatening snow outside. “You bring ‘em inside, and ‘long as they don’t go playin’ cowboys with any ‘a my weapons, I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.”

“Don’t worry, they know better than to treat weapons as toys,” John says, a look of pure relief coming over his face as he turns to the car. “You can come on out, boys.”

The car’s rear door opens with a creak, and two sets of feet drop down to stand in the dirt behind it. The older one comes out first, carrying a backpack and leading the younger boy by the hand. Bobby has no idea how to guess children’s ages, but he knows the older can’t be more than eleven or twelve, and the younger looks like he’s probably only just started school.

“Sam, Dean, this is Bobby Singer. He’s going to help me with some stuff for work, so we’re going into his house for a little while. While we’re in there, you’re to be quiet and not touch anything, you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” the older one says, while the younger one sticks his thumb in his mouth and nods. Bobby leads the way into the house, John herding his boys behind him.

“Doggy!” the younger boy whispers as they pass Rumsfeld. “Dee, can I pet him?”

Bobby is about to turn around and give them both a stern lecture about leaving the dog alone, but the older boy beats him to it. “No, Sammy. He’s a guard dog, and he’s on duty, so no petting, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

Well, that solves the mystery of which one is Sam and which is Dean, at least. When they get in the house, Bobby sets both boys down at his kitchen table with glasses of water—he doesn’t have anything else in the house suitable for a child to drink, unfortunately—and a stern warning about not touching anything—especially the weapons—then he and John retreat to his library with bottles of beer to discuss demons.

A couple of hours later, while John is buried deep in a book of demon lore, Bobby pops back into the kitchen to see exactly how much trouble the two boys have gotten into. He was a boy himself, once, so he’s expecting something skirting the edge of complete chaos, but, to his surprise, the boys are still sitting in pretty much the exact same spot where John had left them. Sammy has climbed into Dean’s lap, and is staring avidly at the pictures in the book that Dean has open on the table while Dean reads to him about knights and castles and a princess with long hair.

“Uncle Bobby? Can Sammy have another glass of water, please?”

Bobby’s just turning to leave when the sound of his name stops him in his tracks. “Who said to call me that?”

Dean shrugs. “That’s what Dad says to call all his friends, since we don’t got any real uncles. Is that okay?”

Uncle Bobby. Huh. He kinda likes the sound of that. He’s never been anyone’s uncle before. “Sure, kid. It’s just fine. Some water, ya say? Coming’ right up.”


End file.
